Days later, Stefan sat in his pavilion tapping time on his helmet. Raindrops drummed on the canvas, while the winds howled and buffeted the gray–white walls. The rain was a welcome respite to the sweltering heat the past few weeks. So far, there had been no more incidents with the Ashishin, but the breaks needed by them brought the entire process of mending the Astocans to a crawl.
To make issues worse, if the elements didn’t stabilize sometime soon, the Travelshafts would be of no use. His army would have to march from the Sang Reaches across some two thousand miles or more to Benez. Although the trip was mainly through farmland and grassy plains, it could take at least three weeks and that was if he took only his cavalry. Waiting for the entire army meant adding another three months.
“The bloody gods of Flows laugh at the plans of men,” he grumbled under his breath as he stared at the map.
Stefan glanced up at the rustle from the pavilion’s entrance. The rain became a roar and the wind a wail as Kasimir’s slim form ducked inside, water streaming down his armor.
The Knight General cleared the hair plastered to his forehead and cheek before he spoke. “Sir, a report arrived from Kaden. The elements calmed overnight. The Shin have been able to mend all the Astocans.”
Stefan’s lips twitched into a smile. “And here I was cursing the gods.”
“I knew you’d like that.” Kasimir grinned. “Garrick and the Knight Captains are gathering the men. We assumed you weren’t planning on waiting out the storm.”
“You know me too well.” Stefan stood and pulled on his gloves. Lips pursed, he traced a finger south from the Sang Reaches through the swamps and into Castere. “With the storm, the Sinking Swamps will be too treacherous to pass if we wanted to use the Travelshafts at Castere. The next closest city is Konele, here.” He moved his hand west. “Have a contingent stay behind to take apart the tents and follow when they’re done. Send the scorpios and wagons through first with enough men to protect them should the Svenzar decide this is a good place for a raid.”
“Do you really think they will strike this far south?”
“We have seen how quickly the Svenzar can traverse any mountain range. Considering they built the shafts, who is to say they don’t have a way to reach them easier than we do?”
“If that’s the case, why not wait?”
“And risk Mater becoming unstable again? No. We leave now.”
Kasimir nodded. “I’ll make sure all is ready.” The Knight General turned on his heels and left.
After Stefan pulled on his helmet, he took one last look around his pavilion. In ways, he would miss his tent, but he was also glad to be heading home. Thania’s silky hair and golden eyes called to him. With a sigh, he pulled back the tent flap and stepped outside.
Immediately, the rain pattered on his helm and the wind snatched at his cloak. He ignored both and slogged through mud to where his horse was tethered. Despite the weather, the camp had a purposeful bustle about it as soldiers and Cardian slaves hurried along with their preparations. They were taking apart tents while others had the wagons and drays with their scorpios already in a line. To the west of the camp, a long snake of infantry waited. Ahead of them, horses stomping their impatience, the cavalry formed.
The storm had done a good job of washing away the stench of thirty thousand soldiers. No longer did the pungent smells of piss, shit, or sweat hang. Instead, Stefan drew in a breath of freshness. Muddy freshness but satisfying all the same. He was mounting when the sound of racing hooves reached him.
Silversteel armor unmistakable even with the deluge and dark clouds that made the afternoon more akin to dusk, a Pathfinder raced through the camp. When the man drew closer, Stefan made out the golden shield chased into the breastplate.
Kaden yanked on his reins and brought his horse to a jarring halt several feet from Stefan.
“What’s the matter?” Stefan was unable to see Kaden’s face, but from the way the Pathfinder kept his back straight and head high as he approached closer something wasn’t right. The Knight Commander tensed.
“Apparently your King has forbidden the Ashishin from entering Benez. He went so far as to banish any who serve the Tribunal,” Kaden shouted over the wind’s howls.
“What?”
“Word came by eagle sent from the Tribunal themselves. They ordered us home to Granadia immediately.”
Stunned, Stefan stared through the rain at his army. Nerian, What in Ilumni’s name are you doing? First, you recalled the Alzari without saying why and now you banish the Ashishin from Seti?
“I took the liberty of sending the Astocan survivors to Castere,” Kaden said. “Without Pathfinders, I wish you the best of luck, Knight Commander. May Ilumni shine his light on you.” Without another word, he flapped his reins and thundered back the way he came.
Stefan watched the man ride off. Without Pathfinders, they would need more than luck or Ilumni’s blessings. Managing the Alzari to make sure none went insane, or to limit the damage when one did, once again fell to whatever method King Nerian chose. In the past, none worked half as well as having the Pathfinders.
Kasimir rode over, his horse’s hooves splashing through puddles formed within the ruts from wagon wheels. “What was that about?” he yelled.
A hand stroking the stubble on his chin, Stefan gave a slow shake of his head. “Nerian has banished all Ashishin from Seti.”
Kasimir’s eyes widened. “Hydae’s Flames, what’s he thinking?”
Coming from Kasimir, the curse caught Stefan off–guard, but he sympathized. “I was standing here saying the same thing. The Tribunal won’t take kindly to this.”
“That’s an understatement. I wouldn’t be surprised if this sparked a war.”
At the words, Stefan frowned. “You don’t think that is—”
“N–No, it couldn’t be.” Kasimir’s face drained of color.
“Let’s hope not,” the Knight Commander said. “There’s no way we can win a war against the Tribunal with all of Granadia’s might behind them. Even Nerian knows that.”
“What if he believes differently?”
“I guess we’ll find out when we get to Benez. Is the cavalry ready?”
Kasimir nodded.
“Good, we head out now. Leave a quarter of them behind with the infantry and the scorpios. We can’t afford to wait. Whenever they make it back is fine.” With a jerk of his reins, Stefan set off through the downpour.
By the time they reached Konele’s outskirts, the rain was dwindling to a drizzle. The drum of hooves drew Stefan’s attention to a fenced field near an abandoned farm—one of the many in the area. Head down, a horse galloped across the muddy pasture.
A loud mewl made Stefan whip his head around in the opposite direction. Body a blur, a six–legged creature crashed through the fence. Splintered wood flew into the air. The beast slowed as it gained the field. Stefan recognized the mottled carapace, the humped shell on its back, the long swinging, snake–like neck, and a head with a mouth lined with sharp teeth. It was a dartan.
The beast stopped, peered at Stefan and his men, and then toward the lone horse. It mewled once more before bounding forward, muddy water splashing as its feet churned. As tall and wide as dartan’s were, one would expect them to be slow and lumbering, but they were as much that as they were docile. This one ran three times faster than the horse, and it was several times larger. Kept by farmers for their speed and strength, dartans needed to be beat into submission to maintain a semblance of control. Even then, such control was often fleeting. Yet their workload was worth the risk. Not to mention their use in prizefights.
Before the horse gained the fence to the pasture’s far side, the dartan caught up. The creature crashed into the horse’s side. The horse went toppling, its body carving a path through the sodden earth. With a whinny, the horse attempted to scramble to its feet.
The dartan rushed forward, head snaked out. Its jaws snapped onto its prey’s neck. A sudden twist and the horse stilled and sank back onto its knees. The dartan tore a chunk of flesh and mewled in content.
Whenever Stefan saw the beasts, he marveled at them. He had sworn to find a way to harness their aggression and speed into something his army could use. Alas, such a process eluded him. The arrival of one of his scouts drew him away from the dartan at its meal.
Garbed in dark leather, the scout drew rein. “Sir, they have withdrawn everyone into Konele.”
“Good.” Stefan gave one last glance to where the dartan stood tearing another chunk of meat. “Head down to the Travelshaft. It’s past time we were home.”
Similar to their other locations the Travelshaft’s entrance sat outside the town with three, smooth–paved roads sloping down into it. The stone of the roads weren’t cobble or large flagstones. It was as if one layer of rock had been laid down in a stretch a thousand feet long. The surface showed no signs of erosion nor did precipitation collect. Instead, rain flowed off as the streets declined slightly from the middle to the sides. Despite their smooth surfaces, the roads never became slippery. They were an ancient marvel none appeared able to reproduce. And there was no discussing the construction with the Sevnzar even when they did happen to speak to a human.
As the scout reported, the central road itself was empty. Unmanned, heavy stone fortifications stood sentinel along the way. Next to those were several ballistae aimed at the portal tunnel that was the Travelshaft’s entrance.
Ahead, the yawning maw of the shaft towered. Rock covered the exterior forming what looked like a short hallway hewn into stone and angling down into the earth. Nearly forty feet tall and twice as wide, the surface of the portal gave off an ethereal glow, power resonating from it in rhythmic pulses. Any Matii could feel the pull of energy as soon as they set foot onto the ramp’s beginning. Beyond the glow was a black so pure it stood out at night.
Stefan waited for Garrick and Kasimir to draw abreast of him. Once they began the downhill dash, there would be no stopping. The speed altering effect of the road leading to the portal was immediate, triggered by some unknown link between Matii and the essences around them. According to researchers, most creatures seemed to have the link innately. Any normal man would feel nothing. After a deep breath, Stefan hunkered deeper into the saddle, raised his hand, and dropped it. He slapped his reins at the same time.
His horse leaped forward, head down and stretched like an arrow shot from a bow. Legs churning, its speed increased until it ran at twice a normal gallop. Then three times as fast.
Behind him, his cavalry thundered. Unbidden tears came to Stefan’s eyes, but he could not manage to lift a finger to wipe them away. His face contorted and his hair and cloak streamed out behind him. He hunched into the saddle.
In moments, the Travelshaft reared up in front of him. He plunged into the pits of its blackness.
As Stefan crossed the portal’s obsidian surface, his movement slowed from a breakneck lunge to a crawl. Tendrils of cold prickled across his skin as if tiny creatures attempted to leech all warmth from him. Then he was through to the other side and his men with him.
Inside, a dim glow lit the three channels—the wide thoroughfare they ran on and a lesser one to each side. The channels consisted of link upon link of interconnected metal each in the shape of an H. Rocky slabs filled the open spaces at the top and bottom of each H like smooth, rectangular flagstones. Only the difference in the silver of the metal and the brown of the stone told where one began and the other ended. Tracks, the Svenzar called them. The channels stretched for miles into impenetrable darkness.
To the outskirts were walls that made Stefan feel as if he rode in cavernous mine deep within a mountain. Bleached bones showed in a few locations against the rock faces. Sometimes he wondered if this was how it looked within a tomb. The thought made him shudder. One thing he was happy for was the Travelshafts’ scent. Their interiors did not carry the stench of death or of a space enclosed for too long. They were practically odorless. So much so, that he could smell his own sweat and his horse.
Along one of the other paths, a contingent of guards on foot surrounded several supply wagons. The tracks didn’t appear to move, but the soldiers slid along all the same, apparently at an incremental pace. Stefan knew the sensation was deceiving. Their actual speed would be more in comparison to ten times a horse’s gallop. Everything always seemed to slow when within range of the exit.
Stefan braced himself for the lurching rush that would send his stomach into his mouth when he passed beyond the entrance’s threshold. Fifty feet in, he crossed. His horse leapt forward under him in a speed that made what it did on the roadway outside seem slow by comparison.
Blood rushed to his ears in a roar, a tingle shot through his body, his stomach threatened to spew its contents, and he thought his heart would jump from his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut against the sensation of blinding speed, knowing within a few moments it would settle as if it were a part of him. Those moments seemed to last an eternity, but once his heart and his stomach calmed, he eased his eyes open.
In this section of the Travelshaft, the glow was much brighter, like early afternoon suffused by a light mist. Even after all these years, he still marveled that no lamps or lightstones produced the effect. The luminescence simply existed. The air rushed by in a steady swish, a gentle breeze against his face, the one thing louder than his or his horse’s breaths.
The channels stretched on, but for all the light within the Travelshaft’s confines, Stefan couldn’t see more than thirty feet ahead. The walls lining either side were an unchanging gray and black mass. Occasionally, another channel intersected the main ones, leading off to a city or town. The journey continued this way, almost devoid of time’s passage, one steady flow where he stood still while the rest of the world moved around him.
As they made their way in silence, they encountered several convoys passing on the other channels. Most consisted of soldiers escorting wagons and supplies, while others were merchants and their guard contingents. No one used the Travelshafts without protection. Not with the Svenzar raiding them at will.
“Stay on guard,” Stefan shouted to Kasimir and Garrick. “The way things have been going the past few days, it would only be fitting if we encounter the Svenzar here.”
Before they were able to pass the word, the ground lurched. Ahead, a wave of earth flowed in an undulating mass from the rocky walls. The movement came to an abrupt stop in the open space between their channel and the outer one. Then dirt and rock spewed upward.
“Svenzar!” Stefan yelled. “Take positions.” Eyes fixed on the creature he leapt from his mount and snatched his bow from below the saddle.
A head the size of a wagonbed formed. The ground continued to flow up, pushing the head higher and higher until it stood upon a mass of stone well over twenty–feet in height.
Arrow nocked, Stefan aimed for where he expected the eyes to appear.
The Svenzar’s stoneform body continued to grow. The ground rumbled and the chamber shook as the being created itself from the earth. Different colors of sediment layered its body, accompanied by metallic glints. Rigid, square shoulders formed, quickly followed by muscled arms a dozen or more feet across. Fingers clenched and unclenched. The wide chest matched the head in proportion. A hollow boom echoed as the rest of the Svenzar from the abdomen down hewed itself from the dirt, stone, and metal in one motion that ended with its feet appearing. Debris showered the channel.
The ground rumbled again, and smaller waves, hundreds in all, appeared within the cavernous Travelshaft. They grew along the walls. Pebbles, small rocks, and dirt rained down. Stefan cast his gaze up to the roof high above them. There, the humps in the stone existed also.
Mouth agape, he stared as the humps formed into smaller versions of the Svenzar—their young counterparts, the Sven. They inhabited the walls, standing sideways or hanging upside down from the roof like bats made of stone.
Stefan raised a hand to signal to his men. They knew to fire as soon as the creatures opened their eyes. He focused on the Svenzar.
The Svenzar’s eyes did not open. A voice like musical notes put to speech but at the same time, a basso rumble, said, “Put away your weapons, Knight Commander Dorn. We seek an audience.”